


Evolution

by Zanne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-08
Updated: 2011-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-19 21:27:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanne/pseuds/Zanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The evolution of Metallicar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evolution

**Author's Note:**

> Boundless thanks to my beta team [](http://insomnia-geek.livejournal.com/profile)[**insomnia_geek**](http://insomnia-geek.livejournal.com/), [](http://caelumi.livejournal.com/profile)[**caelumi**](http://caelumi.livejournal.com/), and [](http://gestaltrose.livejournal.com/profile)[**gestaltrose**](http://gestaltrose.livejournal.com/). Despite the confusing premise (and it is confusing!), they tore their way through this story. Kripke owns all (except for Metallicar who belongs to Dean and no other). Just so you know, blood-mate means brother, not Wincest, so no freaking out.

  
Can the culmination of hopes and thoughts and dreams coalesce into something solid? Can the act of creation occur through mere belief?

There are gods who claim so. There are gods who claim to have come into existence from just such power. No one sees the irony in the creator beings being created after the fact.

Or maybe they do and that’s all part of the plan.

Existing without form for eons, slowly molded and shaped by the pure will of those who believed – no greater strength can ever be attained as that of adoration and worship. The veneration of millions, or even just one, is what gives strength, gives form, reigns in all that energy to serve its purpose.

What purpose? Only She knows.

There was no physical shape in the beginning. Surging across the sky, the muscled horseflesh pulling Helios’ golden chariot through the Heavens – She was one and the same, no difference between beast and carriage. She fulfilled Her role, inseparable in the eyes of those below.

Inseparable in the eyes of those who _believed_.

No real form attained, merely thoughts and hopes and dreams that filled the sky, explaining the unexplainable. There was shape and certainty granted by those who stared up at the blazing ball that traveled Her unerring path across the cloud strewn expanse of blue. Mastered by the master of the sun and sky, given purpose – a duty to fulfill.

And She grew stronger. 

                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All of this will and wanting finally gave Her shape, corporeal form on the mortal plane after existing so long only in the ephemeral plane of thought.

Hand hewn boards bowed around a skeletal shell - sanded, tarred and twice blessed with the blood of Her makers and the salt of the sea. Sage burned in a pyre on the sandy shore as She rode the endless waves out to the edge of the world, leading Her warriors into battle.

Mastered by the master of Ithaca, She loyally carried his crew. She sheltered them in Her hold as the seas shrieked and pounded against Her hull, demanding their blood price as the gods themselves fought to keep Her from attaining what they never could.

Loyalty, love, devotion – that was all She required and all She could give. But it had to be earned and earned it was.

Through the years She sheltered those who claimed Her as home, who spilled their blood and their tears on Her warping deck, seeking solace in the sanctuary of Her bow. The pureness of their devotion giving Her strength, every death breaking Her just a little bit more.

Her master was a foolish man – daring to take on the Cyclops, Scylla and Charybdis, as well. Only in facing death did he ever feel a man, fighting vainly against impossible odds in his relentless quest for hearth and home - when home was always where She lay docked, tethered by nothing more than Her devotion.

She nearly lost him to Calypso and Circe both, the temptation of the female form luring him away from Her weather-worn decks. She had no heart to pound beneath his flesh, no blood to pulse under his tongue, no welcoming heat to thrust inside.

She merely _was_.

A mortal man needed more.

She nearly lost him to death - that greedy, clutching shade - his quest for Tiresias calling him into Hades itself. Only he would attack the gods in their homelands, on the shadowy planes where humans never tread.

It was Helios who took Her from him, Her old master demanding his due. Jealous and wanting, he bashed Her shape upon the rocks, needing to destroy what he could no longer have.

It set Her free – formless and needing, no direction to follow.

What was She without a master? A being such as She, made of thought or flesh or wood or steel, requires one who can control and command and demand with a touch. To mold Her endless need into his own purpose, to give Her devotion, adoration - to worship Her into being. She cannot exist without such a one.

And so She waited. 

                                                   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Again She took form, metal welded and shaped, almost too heavy to soar amongst the clouds once more. But soar she did, despite being named for such an ungainly desert creature.

Her master was one of the aces of the sky, carving steel pathways through the clouds as they fought, swooping and spiraling in an erratic dance of gunfire.

A war to end all wars – but aren’t they all? The only thing that mattered was his sure hand directing Her, his guiding faith Her fortress. They said She was untamable, no sane man would trust Her with his life. Too difficult to control, that was the consensus, failing to realize all that was necessary to pacify Her spirit was a strong hand tempered by unadulterated loyalty.

But he granted Her his faithfulness, binding Her with chains of devotion stronger than Her iron hide that sheltered him from the cold, open sky around them.

Together they hunted through the sky, a stealthy predator skirting through the cover of the clouds despite the loud buzzing of Her propeller. She was one with Her master, as much his weapon as the guns that shredded their enemies into a hail of metal raining relentlessly over the earth.

She had nearly a year with him, a perfect year of smoking engines blessing Her like a holy censer, flecks of blood painting Her metallic skin, every victory giving Her strength. His hand on Her frame as he prayed - prayed to a god under another name, but She knew it was to Her he offered his fidelity.

She was the one that held His heart, held his life in Her hands.

It was his tears on Her metal shell when She fell like a maple leaf from the sky, shattering into pieces over the unforgiving ground.

So She bided her time – her patience capable of outlasting the world. 

                                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Metal welded with rivets and bolts, blessed with the sweat and blood of the makers – the steady scent of fire and the buzzing hum of prayer and devotion, the litany changing, but the intent ever clear.

Ink black skin sheathed the growling roar that served as a heart, oil and gasoline the blood that flowed through Her veins. Christened with a suitable designation, She embodied the pure grace and smooth muscle of her namesake.

For so long, She had only a keeper – no master to call Her own. The keeper tended Her, kept Her form shining and Her engine purring.

Kept Her perfect for the arrival of Her master.

He was so small and weak, at first. Nothing more than mere scraps of flesh and bone and blood fused into human form.

She bided Her time – waiting, watching, hungering for the time when he would captain Her to their destiny awaiting just over the horizon. She lulled him to sleep, singing him into slumber with Her metallic lullabies and cocooning him in Her leather bound warmth.

She was nearly whole once more, awaiting Her sleeping master’s call.

Sixteen years She waited. Sixteen years until he laid his proprietary hands on Her sleek black skin and slid behind the wheel – until he took control.

He led Her into battle with his blood-mate by his side, She his faithful steed no matter the foe he fought. He showed his devotion with the sacrifice of willing females – strengthening Her with every drop of blood and seed spilled on their backseat altar. He was Her master and She his servant – content to do his bidding.

She had him to Herself for a brief time, and She could feel the difference in his handling. No longer truly home without his blood-mate by his side.

Alone, unsure, the desire to fall in battle surging beneath his skin. No assurances could She give to awaken the hunter within him. She nearly lost him more times than She could count in those desperate days – those painfully desperate days when he hungered more for the family he had fought so hard to keep rather than the encouraging hum of Her engine or the soft, giving flesh of the females She lured inside.

Then his blood-mate rejoined the battle, forging new fires within Her master’s soul.

Pure horsepower surging forward, eating up the miles of tarred asphalt, the never ending lines of the highway reflecting in Her glass-orbed eyes. This was what She’d been made for, from the very first moment man had dreamed Her into being – speed, grace… _power_.

She carried them back and forth across their limited world, vast oceans penning Her in, keeping Her from continuing their journey as what passed for Her blood demanded.

Still he honored Her with the spill of life’s blood and the tearing of flesh – _his_ blood, _his_ flesh. He poured libations upon Her frame, chanting ritualistic harmonies to bless Her form, beating the rhythm of his constant liturgy against Her leather-wrapped wheel.

And with every new offering She continued to grow stronger.

Then came the day She lost one of their hard fought battles, irreparably damaged so even the spill of Her master’s blood on Her fading ink-black skin could not resurrect Her. No prayer or sacrifice could bring Her back.

What he had done once, he could not do again.

So She waited – waited for Her new form to emerge from the ether of creation. 

                                           ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soft flesh welded to weak muscles, bound to a framework of brittle bone. Blood pulsing beneath Her skin, heart pounding out its reverberating rhythm.

Her master’s devotion, his unwavering loyalty and obeisance had brought Her here.

The culmination of hopes and dreams and thoughts and wishes coalesced into something solid - the act of creation occurring through mere belief, brought forth with the heartfelt offerings of blood and seed and sweat.

So weak and frail in this tiny mortal body, held so protectively in Her master’s hands. Not oil-stained or blood-painted as She was used to, but clean and gentle as he worshipped Her new form, showing his reverence with the familiar cadenced litanies of praise and promise.

She had a new form now - a new role. She who had pulled the sun across the Heavens, who had led men into battle, who had cared for him so lovingly was now blood of Her master’s blood.

As the jealous gods raged their ineffective fury, the wind screaming their relentless ire, She refused to show fear, even in this fragile, mortal shape.

After all, She was Her father’s daughter. 


End file.
